Unofficial Portkey Archive

It's been ages since I updated this, at least, it feels like it. I had to re-write this oneshot a lot, in fact the first time the story was completely different from this. But I like this one better though, so I let it stick.

Anyway, I couldn't exactly miss my chance to write a re-do of the Yule Ball, eh? So, I hope you enjoy.

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Title: "the obligatory dance"

Rating: PG

Words: 7,412

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #092 - Tradition

Warnings/AN: gof-au, yule ball. Because there comes a time where every H/Hr writer must do something about the Yule Ball. This one revolves almost completely around Harry, Hermione and Harry's feeling for Hermione. Features a competent Dumbledore, a redeemable Ron and a git-ish Krum (though only in passing).

Summary: In which Harry wonders how he went from asking his best friend to the Ball to escorting Cinderella. There are also silly crushes, a misunderstanding and a shocking realization. And then, a goodnight kiss as the clock strikes midnight, or after that.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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He'd been prepared to avoid the whole Yule Ball thing, really, but then Professor McGonagall has to go and drop the bombshell on him.

Bloody. Hell.

He is a Champion, ergo, he needs to attend. With a partner, of the opposite sex. And dance. And spend the night together. Like a date.

Harry scurries off as fast as he can to Gryffindor Tower, palms sweaty and nearly hyperventilating.

Bloody. Hell.

They want him to dance? In front of the whole school? With a girl? Isn't being forced to compete in this stupid Tournament enough? He doesn't know how to dance! He doesn't even want to go to the Ball! And even if he does decide to go, where would he get a date when he can't even talk to the one girl he fancies?

Bloody. Hell.

Harry needs his friends. Hermione! Yes, she'd know what to do. She'd help him, as she always has before. There's his solution, certainly, Hermione can find a way to get him out of this, if not, she'd help him somehow to… to do something. But upon entering the Common Room, Ron pounces on him and sends him into a panic when he starts saying how they need to go and ask the best looking girls before they run out of options. That brought the issue of it being a date back to mind, and Harry thinks of Cho, and he starts hyperventilating again, getting impossibly flustered. A shame, because the pretty Chinese girl is not even there with him and if this happens at the mere thought of her, what would happen when he actually stands in her presence?

I'll get tongue-tied, wither and die of embarrassment.

As his thoughts turn to more and more embarrassing situations, in which he asks Cho and she laughs (sometimes alone, more often than not in front of everyone in school) and rejects him, Ron keeps his tirade and begins dragging through the portrait hole in their search for pretty girls.

Harry can already sense the impending disaster.

~

He's right in his earlier assertion.

The whole endeavour is a huge disaster.

And they don't even get to ask anyone, which is rather sad.

It's only then that Harry realizes that girls move in packs. Before, he never noticed because the only girl he's close to is Hermione and she's always with him and Ron. But now, seeing them huddled together, pointing and giggling and being generally scary, he wonders how the older blokes managed to get girlfriends. Obviously, the only option is to approach the group and ask the girl to talk privately, but then her friends will exchange glances and giggle, or laugh if the girl refuses outright.

He should be counting his blessing that Hermione is not like most girls, otherwise he really doubts he'd have ever talked to her (and that, right there, is a very depressing thought, considering how important she is to him).

He and Ron are walking towards Hagrid's hut, hoping to hide from the onslaught of giggles surrounding the grounds and halls of Hogwarts, when they're ambushed by the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (minus Oliver) and Lee Jordan. They older Gryffindors are all laughing, and Harry guesses correctly that they're laughing at them, as they envelop him and Ron in tight hugs.

"Why the long faces, ickle-fourthies?" the Twins exclaim, in stereo, and then laugh again as Ron blushes scarlet.

Yes, they definitely know of their predicament.

Incredibly so, the teasing and good-natured banter soothes his worries somewhat, and Harry smile slightly, appreciating their effort when he sees the three Chaser girls smile back at him as they pat his head. Just in time too, as he can appreciate the humour in Ron's whining when he starts complaining about the unfairness of it all, and how are they supposed to find dates when the good-looking girls are never alone? The Twins tease their little brother enough for him to snap, and accuse them of giving useless advice, as they obviously don't have dates.

The Twins grins in response as Alicia and Angelina answer in sync that they do have dates. Even Lee Jordan nods as he points to Katie.

Ron blushes in anger and tries to stomp away, but his brothers grab him and pull him to the ground and proceed to tickle him until the youngest male Weasley screams for mercy.

That's when Katie points out the one thing both he and Ron had overlooked in their desperate attempt to get dates; a rather simple fact, truly brilliant in Harry's opinion.

"Why are you even going to this much trouble to get a date, Ron, if you're going to ask someone you barely know just because they're pretty and then will most likely spend the rest of the night standing next to a wall being all awkward and flustered? The whole point of this Ball is to go have fun! So you should ask someone you're comfortable with, a friend!"

"Yes, ickle-Ronniekins-"

"-we're all going-"

"-as friends!"

Harry doesn't stay long after that, because as soon as his brain processed that information, he realizes both his mistake and the solution he's been waiting for. Turning around quickly, he yells a quick thank you to Katie and starts running back to the castle. The last thing he hears before he gets too far away from the group, other than Ron's loud protest and persistence that he has to have a hot date, is the Twins joyful exclamation.

"See? Harry understands!"

~

He finds her, of course, in the Library.

Harry had feared he might have to run all the way to his dorm for the Marauders Map, but for the umpteenth time he's glad Hermione can be so brilliantly predictable.

She's sitting alone at their table (and he feels a small pang at the thought that, since he no longer has to sit for his exams, he's been avoiding the Library like the plague, thus giving Ron an excuse to do the same), and approaches her quickly. He's so eager to reach her that he forgets for a moment where he is and knocks over a chair rather hard, toppling it over and causing an overly loud bang to echo within the silent walls of the Library.

Hermione looks up, startled, and blinks in surprise when she sees him standing not too far from her. There are glares from all directions, but the one that worries him is Madam Pince's as it clearly says that one peep out of place and he'd be banned from her Library. Not a good thing now, even if he knows Hermione would follow him outside.

Smiling apologetically, Harry forces himself to relax and closes the remaining distance separating him from his best friend. Hermione smiles at him when he sits by her side, and places her quill down, an expectant look on her face.

Of course, she knows he has something important to say.

"Are you going to the Ball with someone, Hermione?"

Her sharp intake of breath tells him that whatever she expected, it isn't this. "What?"

Harry fidgets in his seat a little before steeling his resolve, chiding himself mentally for being nervous because this is Hermione, his best friend, he shouldn't feel like this, especially if he's only asking as a friend. "I-uh. I mean, do you have a date for the Yule Ball?"

Frowning in confusion, obviously, she's trying to surmise his motives for asking such a question, Hermione answers anyway. "Well, no, not yet. No one's asked me."

"Do you want to go…?" Harry curses mentally as his voice trails off, unable to complete the sentence, and wondering why as, he reiterates, this is Hermione.

Tilting her head to the side (a little voice is whispering something in the back of his mind, but he squashes it), and nods. "Well, yes, I do want to go. I'd really like to, but I don't want to go alone, and as I said, no one's asked me yet."

Resisting the urge to slap his forehead, Harry closes his eyes and breather deeply. Well, it's okay, she didn't catch his invite, that's fine, he can still fix that.

Not that you've been very forthcoming now, have you, Harry.

Fighting down the blush attempting to climb up his neck (and what is it with him now?), Harry looks at her, meeting her inquisitive glance, and smiles tentatively.

Hermione, of course, smiles back.

"I… well, erm… that is…"

"Spit it out, Harry."

The humour lacing her words, and the grin trying to break free on her face gives him the much needed push, and he finally feels himself relaxing (see, just Hermione, nothing to worry about). He grins at her shamelessly and runs one hand over his hair, knowing for sure it ended up messier than it already was.

"Well, as you are available, would you like to go to the Ball with me then?"

Before he can even add the "as friends" part, an important part mind you, Hermione surprises him with an enthusiastic hug. Their cheeks are pressed together and he can feel her happiness in the way she giggles against his shoulder in an attempt to drown out the sounds, and it's by far the longest and tightest hug Hermione has ever given him.

He kind of… sort of… likes it.

"Oh, Harry!" She whispers excitedly, her breath hitting the side of his neck. "Of course! I'd love to go with you to the Ball!"

After it's clear Hermione doesn't think of letting him go, and because he doesn't want to look to idiotic sitting there with his arms hovering mid-air, he slowly, awkwardly places them around her. His mind is reeling, filled with questions as to her enthusiasm. "Really?"

"Yes! Oh, I'm so happy you asked me!"

Harry's not sure, well, yeah, he can understand her joy on the matter as she obviously wants to go to the Ball and before him no one's asked her, even he is kind of happy because it means he has a partner to accompany him to the event that won't mock him openly when he failed dancing spectacularly. But, does him inviting her really warrant such a display of… happiness and affectioness (is that even a word)? Yeah, sure, Hermione's always been rather affectionate with him, hugging him and touching him, seemingly intent on providing all the physical affection he lacked as a child. And it's fine, he appreciates it; he's grown to like it, to expect it. He can't remember now a time when Hermione hasn't hugged him good morning/night, when she hasn't touched his arm in understanding.

He honestly thinks he'd miss it if she ever stopped, prays that it never does.

But now, something about her sudden joy seems different to him, although, Harry can't pinpoint what is, exactly. So, he lets it go, figuring it's due to her enthusiasm to being able to attend the Ball.

It's at this moment, that he realizes that all eyes are on them; every student currently in the Library, foreign or not, is staring at him and Hermione. Feeling the blush climb up his neck, and knowing how embarrassed he'll be once the students realized he's blushing (probably speculating about a fancy between the best friends), Harry hastens to remind Hermione of their surroundings.

She lets him go, reluctantly, but with a bright smile that does things to him. But then all goes back to normal when she smirks and asks him a rather important question.

"Do you know how to waltz, Harry?"

"Uh… what?"

And just like that, whatever weird things were going on between them are gone, as Hermione laughs softly and Harry grins sheepishly, accepting the light slap on his arm as he obediently listens to her making plans to teach him how to dance.

"Because, honestly Harry, I know we'll have fun going together, regardless of anything," she says, grins wider. "But I do want to dance some, though I don't fancy letting you maul my feet. The least we can do is teach you enough to save my feet from unnecessary pain later."

Their interactions back to normal, everyone surrounding their table returns to their homework, thinking the hug was simply another manifestation of Hermione's friendship, as it has always been. He's glad, and really hopes no gossip will come out of this, as he doesn't want Hermione being embarrassed or humiliated because of him.

Sharing one last smile with him, Hermione returns to whatever it is she was doing, while Harry takes only one moment to decide to stay and keep her company. So, he folds his arms over the wooden table and rest his head on them, allowing the sound of quill scratching over paper soothe his previous worries away.

~

It's on the weeks leading up to the Ball that Harry realizes he had grossly underestimated the Hogwarts' rumour mill.

The firsts few days after he asked Hermione to the Ball had gone by in relative peace; Ron had been upset, at not having a date yet, even when Harry tried to appease him saying there still was time. His red-haired friend scowled and went off to sulk, mumbling something that Harry thought sounded a lot like "though she fancied me" and "been me". Not understanding, and if he'd been honest with himself, he really didn't want to understand, he brushed off his attitude and concentrated on the upcoming lessons Hermione had scheduled for them. Those dancing lessons.

But then, a week after the announcement of the Ball, he realized how very mistaken he'd been at thinking no one would think of him and Hermione being more than friends. Because the Slytherins started, very suddenly, and very quickly, to spread tales of what happened in the Library, twisting the true until it sounded something like his professing undying love and, later Harry would learn, still make it so that everyone thought Hermione had used some sort of dodgy and dark way to entice him.

And it only got worse, when Viktor Krum asked Hermione and she declined, and when Ron loudly argued with her over her choice and then turned on him for going behind his back and snatching the girl he fancied. Hermione had solved the argument with Ron rather quickly, if a bit harshly, but then Harry thought he deserved it, saying she didn't fancy Ron and why would she, with the lousy way he always treated her.

"And, honestly, Ron, how can you say you fancy me when all you ever like to do is antagonize me and whine about my nagging you? How, when not a week ago you were happily, and loudly, saying you wanted the hottest girl to go to the Ball with you?"

That had shut him up quickly, and all those in the Common Room had to nod in agreement, some mumbling Ron had a really nasty way of showing his fancy for a girl who supposedly was his friend first, what with all the times he upset her and fought with her over petty things. Even his brothers and sister, had to agree with Hermione.

That Ron refuses to talk to her now, and by extension him as, for once, Harry chose to side with Hermione, is regrettably but not nearly as upsetting as it was right after Halloween. Which is weird, but Harry surmises he's more worried about what will happen to Hermione now that all these nasty rumours are flying about.

His worries proved to be well-founded, as only three days before the Ball, an article of everything that's been happening since that day in the Library, nasty rumours included, made an appearance in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, by Rita Skeeter. And it is only due to his worry, and his forethought of asking Dobby to ensure nothing happened to Hermione, that she avoids a rather dangerous hate-mail that very same morning when one of the letters exploded in front of her.

Dobby is quick enough to pop in and raise a shield to protect Hermione, also managing to prevent whatever it is that exploded from reaching him as well.

Next to him, Hermione pales considerably, obviously recognizing the substance sizzling on the table before them, and Harry can feel his mounting anger at the cruelty of the Wizarding World, to do this to a girl merely because of a stupid article from a woman who heard nothing but rumours? He so wants to clench his fist tightly, but Hermione had grabbed his hand in an attempt to reassure herself. He turns to give her a smile, which she tentatively returns, before letting him go. Soon, they're ready to leave the Great Hall, thoughts of breakfast far from their minds, when Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall approach them.

The ancient wizard takes one look at the mess that one letter causes, and at all the other fluttering envelopes that Dobby had brilliantly contained, and frowned darkly. Professor McGonagall simply presses her lips into a thin line, her stern visage turning truly frightening.

But none of this matter to Harry. Someone had tried to blatantly hurt his best friend because they believe the pack of shite the Prophet wrote, and he wants the people who are supposed to ensure their safety to do something about it.

So, in a voice barely recognizable, he speaks loudly and clearly. "Are you going to do something about this, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looks at him, then at Hermione, his gaze a steely blue now that the usual twinkle is gone from his eyes. "Rest assured, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, that I will personally see to this matter being fixed. The intent to harm is obvious, and I cannot… It will be fixed."

The Headmaster waves his wand, conjures up a wooden box and forces the letters inside before sealing it. He strides out of the Great Hall, McGonagall following close behind.

Harry grasps Hermione's hands this time, and leads her away too. Deciding it better to be somewhere else, alone with his best friend, if only to make sure no one tries anything here at Hogwarts too. Their first class isn't until much later in the morning, Potions no less, so he needs to gather his strength if he has to face a double lesson with Snape.

Suddenly, a tug on his hand makes him stop and snap out of his angry musings. He turns to see the smiling face of Hermione.

"Thank you, Harry," she says, quietly. "If it weren't for you, I'd probably be in the Hospital Wing right now."

Inexplicably, he feels himself blushing. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. "It was Dobby who protected you, not me, Hermione."

Her smile widens as she reaches to give him a hug. "But only because you asked him, because you were worried even when I told you to ignore it." She pulls back a little, her smile still in place. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually glad you didn't listen to me about this."

That statement helps him go back to normal, feeling himself relaxing, moving away from the foreign feeling that engulfed him when Hermione expressed her gratitude. "Well, I must say, it is a rare day when Hermione Granger doesn't scold me for being stubborn and reckless about something."

"Oh, you were hardly reckless. Stubborn on the other hand…"

He laughs and feels great when she starts chuckling as well. And feeling even better now that he doesn't feel weird around his friend anymore, as it's been the norm as of late, since he invited her to the Ball actually. But just when he thinks all is well, Hermione does something that leaves him speechless and feeling flustered and nervous and weird again.

She kisses his cheek.

~

Finally, the night of the Ball arrives.

After a couple of eventful days (in which he'd fought Malfoy when he tried to insult Hermione, resulting in Hermione having to go to the Hospital Wing to fix her teeth, and as an added bonus, because Snape had assigned him detention and he made enough of a ruckus about it, Dumbledore got involved and managed to rein in the Potions' Master, apparently, in a permanent way), Harry finally stands at the foot of the stairs leading to the girls' dorms, waiting for Hermione.

He catches a glimpse of Ron sulking near the fireplace, and feels a little pang of guilt. The youngest Weasley boy hadn't managed to get a date in the end, and thus, not wanting to turn up to the Ball alone, decided not to go. However what little guilt he feels, Harry manages to push away, reasoning it's Ron's own fault for going about getting a date the way he had, wanting the prettiest girl instead of choosing someone he knows. Even more, he doesn't even know why he's sulking about it, it's not like he's been eager to go, Harry hadn't wanted to go (and probably would have gone still, if he'd found out Hermione's desire to attend, just so she wouldn't have been unhappy later) but has to for being a Champion.

He thinks, correctly, that Ron's sulking mainly because even Ginny has a date, as Neville had asked her after he found out Hermione was unavailable. His red-haired friend is probably feeling lame at being left behind even when his baby sister is going to the stupid Ball.

Well, no matter. There isn't much he can do, especially as Ron is still hell bent in ignoring him for stealing his girl.

Honestly, Hermione is not a possession. And how can he say he fancied her with the rotten way he always treats her?

"I'm ready, Harry."

So immerse in his thoughts, he fails to notice her arrival. Harry smiles nervously, feeling anxious for the upcoming evening, and turns around to greet and give a friendly compliment to his date, when he actually sees her.

He freezes, then his jaw drops, and all anxious thoughts of the Ball fly off his head.

Oh…

Harry's oblivious to everything but Hermione now. He doesn't see the darkening look on Ron's face, nor does he hears the surprised murmur that breaks among the younger students. He ignores the encouraging words from the Twins as they leave with their dates, nor the double thumbs-up Ginny sends Hermione as she walks out with Neville. Even the high-pitched giggles coming from Lavender and Parvati go unnoticed.

Seriously, all Harry can focus on is the lovely girl standing in front of him, wearing a pretty blue dress (and later, he would learn the actual name of the colour is periwinkle blue) made of some kind of floaty material that shows Hermione is, without a doubt, a girl. Her hair is done up in an elegant, and obviously very complicated manner; looks glossy and soft and some loose tresses fall nicely around her face and neck (and wow, who would have thought, her neck is… pretty). She's smiling, and while he had already noted the difference before (Hermione told him what Madam Pomfrey did), Harry still finds it lovely.

Well, there goes his chance of not making a fool of himself; he feels so nervous now!

Hermione arches a pretty eyebrow (oh, he doesn't think he'll ever think of her in any other term other than pretty now), he feels his cheeks warming rapidly, and then she giggles and closes the distance between them; she hugs him and he tenses up, but Hermione is squeezes his waist until he relaxes. And he does, eventually, after what feels like an eternity.

"Alright?"

Harry swallows, feeling somewhat better-normal now. His cheeks still feel warm, but not so much, so he nods, and smiles shyly. "Alright."

Finally, much to Harry's relief (and regret), his pretty best friend releases him and steps back a little, seizing his arm instead as she starts leading him out the Common Room. "We better hurry, the Ball is about to begin and you can't be late."

Again, he nods, and as they walk down hallways and stairs, nearing the Great Hall and encountering a few other couples on the way, his brains kicks into high gear and Harry blurts out what he's been thinking for the last couple of minutes. "You look gorgeous, Hermione."

She blushes, averts her gaze, and gives his arm a little squeeze. "Thank you, Harry. You… you look very handsome as well."

Knowing she probably feels as flustered as he does (even if she hides it better) makes him relax considerably and regain the sense of normalcy. He has no illusions, though, about going with just a friend to the Ball now; he actually feels like he's going with a Princess-Cinderella.

The thought shocks him, but Harry acknowledges its relevance.

Yes, Hermione is his best friend. And, yes, she is a very pretty girl as well.

Maybe not obvious pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

The fluttering in his stomach seems to confirm his scattering thoughts.

~

The Ball, as everything in his life, is unpredictably predictable.

The Champions are the last to enter the Great Hall, and are led to the Head table where they will dine first, among the Ministry Officials and the other relevant people of the Tournament, such as the Headmasters and Headmistress.

The food is great, the talk is amicable. Because Harry really doesn't want to talk with Percy, he does his utmost best to try and be part of Hermione's conversations with first Cedric, then Fleur, Viktor (which prolonged only because the Bulgarian Champion seemed reluctant to drop his chat with Hermione), and lastly Cho. That one is uncomfortable, yet enlightening for Harry. Because while at first he seems incapable of controlling his blush and stuttering, once Hermione starts animatedly to talk about OWLs with Cho, he becomes less entranced with the pretty Chinese girl and more fascinated with his best friend.

It's funny, how before now, Harry had never really paid attention to the way Hermione just seems to light up when talking about something of interest for her, when learning something new.

He likes it; the way her eyes sparkle and the permanent sunny smile on her face and the light blush dusting her cheeks. He likes it, and he really can't help but think just how pretty Hermione is when in her element.

Soon, though, conversation has to stop as the food is gone and Dumbledore is prompting everyone to clear the floor as it is time for the Champions to follow tradition. Time to dance.

Harry swallows and fidgets nervously as Hermione sort of leads him to the dance floor, he tries to look enthusiastic, and fails, but his dear friend smiles at him, steps closer than necessary, and whispers reassurances in his ear. She believes in him, she says, knows he'll do great because they have been practicing.

"It's alright, Harry, I'm here."

That's really enough for him.

The first dance, a waltz, goes great; he's no dancer, that's for sure, and while Hermione is good, it's still not enough for them to glide over the dance floor graceful and masterfully. But they know each other better than anyone, and Harry's grown so used to dancing with Hermione after weeks of practice that they do move in synch, which is really more than what can be said for the other Champions. They move in synch, so Hermione's feet are spared the torture, and they actually look good.

The next dance is modern, and fast-paced, not needing for each couple to really touch, and that's fine with them. Hermione looks happy and enthusiastic and he can't really ask her to stop when she's obviously enjoying it so much. So, they dance, and dance, fast songs, some other waltzes, and even some slow songs (which, in Harry's opinion, are brilliant as the required movement is minimum and… he likes to have Hermione that close to him). And after what feels like a billions song later, they stop to go get something to drink.

"Are you having fun, Harry?" Hermione asks suddenly, turning her pretty eyes on him.

He blushes, inexplicably (or maybe not, as he's been feeling kind of weird all night with her, but good weird), and smiles at her a little. "Honestly? Yeah, it's been great. And… I guess I ought to thank you for it, Hermione, if you hadn't said yes…"

If she hadn't said yes, he would've end up here with someone else, feeling all awkward and probably spending the night brooding and sitting at one of the tables.

Hermione gives him a look, telling him that she understands, that she knows, and smiles. "Ready to dance some more?"

He's not really ready, but she wants to, so he nods.

That's how they spend most of the night, alternating between dancing and taking short breaks, until Hermione begs for a longer breaks as she says her heels are killing her. Harry chuckles but agrees with her, and leads her to one of the unoccupied tables, telling her to wait and rest some while he goes for some drinks.

And it's as he grabs a couple of bottles of butterbeer that things turn a rather sour turn.

~

It starts with Ron appearing out of nowhere, but looking rather regretful. Harry's dubious of his intentions but, seeing no way out of this confrontations, motions with one of his hands to prompt his friend to talk.

Ron begins mumbling an apology, before launching into a very confusing rant that's supposed to explain his behaviour for the past days. Harry follows up until he says something about mixing up feelings and then gets lost.

"Ron, hold up! I don't think I understand what you're trying to say…"

The red-haired boy blushes, and shifts nervously on the spot. "I just wanted to apologize for being a prat these past days… You see, after the blow up with Hermione, the Twins explained some things to me, that helped me understand what I was really feeling, and I realized I was mixing up what I felt for Hermione with something else entirely…"

Harry nods, feeling apprehensive, because he really doesn't fancy hearing his best mate proclaiming his undying love for Hermione. "And what's that?"

"It turns out… what I feel for Hermione is the same as what I feel for Ginny… I was kind of confused, because Hermione isn't related to me, and I really thought I fancied her, but I don't. Yeah, I hate seeing her with other blokes, but it's in the same way I hate seeing Ginny with other blokes."

At this, Ron glares at someone on the dance floor, and as Harry follows his line of sight, he chuckles lightly upon seeing Ginny dancing with a very flustered Neville, still both looking really happy.

"So… you, like, see her as a sister?"

Ron sends him an amused look, but nods. "Well, yeah, mate, that's kind of what I just said."

"Oh. Well, good. But, you need to apologize to Hermione as well."

"I know. I just hope she doesn't hex me or something."

"Oh, she won't."

It feels good to be back to being friends with Ron. He doesn't have many friends, and Harry would loathe to lose his first friend over a petty fight. Looking around, he frowns when he can't see Hermione among the tables and starts to worry until Ron growls menacingly next to him, drawing his attention to something else on the dance floor and he feels like growling himself.

Because there's Krum, dancing with Hermione, not a slow song, but not moving much as they seem to be engaged into an interesting conversation and looking like he's doing whatever he can to move closer to his best friend. Closer than what is appropriate and closer than what the song warranted.

So, you see, that's when things turn sour.

Harry tries to be okay with it, really, he does. Hermione can dance with whomever she wants, honest. They only came together as friends! No big deal, she can dance with Krum. Of course she can, she probably feels guilty for rejecting him and that's why she agreed to dance with him. Tis not like she'll go off with Krum to… to-somewhere! And it's not like she has to stay with him all night, the Champions are not needed anymore, so Harry can perfectly go now. After all, he didn't even want to come.

Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Harry feels like something is tearing at his chest, making it hurt something awful.

And then things get worse.

"That son of a-"

Harry stops listening, stops seeing anyone but Krum and Hermione. Krum who's leaning over Hermione, closer, closer, his intent clear-and Hermione who's blushing and looking adorably bewildered…

"-bloody wanker!"

Quickly, not wanting to see anything, feeling as if his chest is about to burst open, Harry turns around and leaves the Great Hall. Belatedly, he hears Ron's voice screaming at Krum, and maybe the Twins are screaming as well, and someone is calling his name. He ignores it all, and runs as soon as he reaches the hallway, away from there, and hopefully, away from the pain.

~

He knows he couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes sitting by the lake, yet is unsurprised that Hermione found him.

Quietly, she sits next to him, drawing up her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She says nothing, doesn't seem to move at all, though Harry has the distinct feeling he is being watched.

Then, she talks.

"Are you too mad at me?"

Her voice, barely a whisper, wavers as it carries across the short distance separating them. And Harry's first instinct is to tell her no, and really, he isn't. But he's not sure what he feels either. Is he mad? Yeah, but not at her, he realizes, at himself. For being presumptuous, for being blind.

For being an idiot.

"No, I could never be mad at you…"

"You were last year."

"But I kinda had an excuse then, and it didn't last… I just was an idiot in letting Ron dictate when to make up with you."

"And now?"

"No, Hermione, honest."

She nods, and Harry can tell that simply because he hears her shifting next to him. A part of him wants to tell he to go away (go back to Krum, he thinks bitterly), to leave him alone for a while. But another part, the part that acknowledges the fact that Hermione is a very pretty girl, the part that knows why he feels the fluttering in his stomach even if he doesn't want to admit it, wants to let her stays, wants to ask for her comfort. Let her hug the pain away.

He does neither and soon the silence becomes unbearable.

"Why did you run, Harry?"

Her question is unexpected, so he answers without really thinking.

"Didn't really fancy seeing you snogging Krum."

His heart skips a beat, his mouths dries and Harry knows he said the wrong thing. Feels it in the suddenly eerie silence surrounding them now. What is wrong with him? But, of course, he knows what, he just doesn't know how to fix it-how to make it go away.

This isn't supposed to happen…

"But I didn't-I didn't even let him get close to-"

Her words come out in a rush, and Harry can't help his startled look as he turns to face her. Hermione looks at him with a frown forming on her face, staring at him speculatively, her head tilting to one side and looking entirely too adorable for his sanity.

Merlin help me.

"I didn't even want to dance with him," she says softly.

"Then why did you?"

"He said he asked you, and that you said it was okay as you wanted to fix the rift with Ron," she pauses, her frown deepens. "When I looked at you, you were talking with Ron and seemed to be on the mend, and Ron confirmed this later, but at the time I didn't think much of it and I thought it wouldn't hurt. Besides, it was only going to be one dance."

"He lied to you," he says, growling menacingly again, and tries to resist the urge to go and-and do something to the Bulgarian Champion. Something not at all nice.

"Yes, well, I know that now, but then… He tried to kiss me, but I pulled away before he got close, and then Ron and the Twins stepped in. It got kind of messy after that."

Harry chuckles, deeply hoping the Weasley boys managed to do some damage to the broody Seeker, and belatedly realizes Hermione is now looking at him as if she's just come to some grand conclusion.

It makes him squirm uncomfortably.

Her frown relaxes then, her gaze softening and a soft smile turning up the corners of her lips. It's an expression he's familiar with, as he's seen it directed at him a few time, especially when, according to Hermione, he's being adorably clueless. But there is something different, he doesn't know what, but he can sense it in the way his heart started pounding against his ribcage.

Oh, Harry really doesn't want to put a name to what he's feeling now.

Slowly, letting out a light chuckle, Hermione scoots closer to him, and wraps her arms around on of his, snuggling his side. "I never really considered coming to the Ball with anyone but you, Harry."

"O-oh, okay."

She giggles, hugs his arms tighter (making him aware of her developing figure in the process). "So don't you go brooding, because I'm not going to ditch you for a pompous Quidditch player."

He smiles then, happy to hear that but not really knowing why (or he does know, but doesn't want to think about it). "Do you… want to go back, Hermione?"

"Maybe in a few minutes, I'm quite comfy here, you know."

His smile widens and he nods his answer, letting her snuggle into him as Harry's honest enough to admit he enjoys it (even if he's not quite honest to admit why).

~

They never do go back to the Great Hall, although, the quietness of the night allows them to hear as the last dance is announced, and feeling like he owns her this much for making her miss some of the event she'd been so eager to attend, Harry stands up and pulls Hermione along with him.

"Last dance," he says, smiling tentatively when she gives him a confusing look.

Hermione smiles as well, and steps closer, looping her arms around his neck as the soft music reaching them is obviously a slow song. Blushing brightly, and feeling incredibly thankful for the darkness surrounding them, Harry places his hands on her waist. He debates with himself briefly, and then moves his hand further into her back until he's embracing her close enough to erase all distances between them.

Her only reaction to this is to place her head on his shoulder, exhaling a soft sigh.

They revolve on the spot, in accordance to the slow tempo of the music, neither eager to break the intimate embrace, nor wishing for it to end.

Harry tries to understand his reaction to this; his hear is hammering in his chest, his stomach feels full of fluttering butterflies, his hands are getting sweaty yet he doesn't feel any of the panic-induced numbness he associates with these feelings he has… The only other girl that's made him feel like this is Cho, and yet the panic is always present with her, the fear of making a fool out of himself-but not now, he's nervous but not enough to become a fumbling fool.

It's all so complicated.

He's first instinct is to turn to Hermione for help, but as she's the one instigating all these confusing reactions, Harry doubts she'll be able to help (or fears she might, that she'll figure it out and tell him, that she already knows, and then he'll no longer be allowed to ignore it), so he does nothing. Tries to figure it out himself, yet resolute to ignore the obvious answer. Because that can't be it, it just can't. It's not possible, he's not allowed to-

The music stops.

Hermione doesn't seem eager to break the intimate embrace, and he won't be the one to do it either, unfortunately, the warming charm that had been placed on the grounds start to fade and the chilling air hits them both, forcing a shiver out of the girl in his arms.

"Um…"

"Let's go back?"

Harry nods, stepping back and quickly discarding his outer robes and giving them to his lovely best friend. The bright smile he receives in exchange is worth the sudden cold assaulting him from all sides. Grabbing his arm, Hermione hurries them over to the Castle and then to Gryffindor Tower. The only stop the make is when Cedric caught up with them, which is good as Harry got advice on how to solve the screeching of the Egg.

Sooner than expected, they're standing outside the entrance to the girl's dorms; he feels thankful that the Common Room is devoid of any students, as it's just past midnight, but surprisingly disappointed that it's time to part. Hermione still looks at him in the same fond way as before, when they were out by the Lake, smiling patiently, as if expecting something.

He struggles to talk, clearing his throat a few time before managing it. "I… I had a good time, Hermione, thank you."

"Oh, Harry, I should be thanking you… But I had a good time, too. I'm very happy that you asked me."

"Me too."

He gets the distinctive feeling that there's something he should do now, but doesn't know what. Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry averts his gaze to the side, suddenly too nervous to meet Hermione's eyes yet not really wanting to say goodnight. Her expression hasn't changed, he can tell, but now she smiles in that way that tells him she knows something he doesn't but should, as it's royally obvious.

Eventually, she giggles and steps closer to wrap her arms around him, leaving him befuddled. "Goodnight, Harry. And thank you again for a lovely evening."

"Tis okay," he says, hugging her back. "Goodnight."

Instead of pulling back though, Hermione leans back a little and moves back in, and his thoroughly shocked brain is a second too late to realize why.

She kisses him.

Not on the cheek, no. This is mouth-to-mouth contact. Soft, warm lips against his own. A real kiss, along with all the other benefits involved, such as a tight hug that leaves no doubt his best friend is growing a fine pair of…

Only a second. But then he closes his eyes and pulls her even closer to him and tilts his head to the opposite side. And kisses her back.

It is over fairly soon, even if for Harry it feels like ages, and Hermione is quick to mumble goodnight again and dash up the stairs to her dorm. It takes him a few more seconds standing there, arms still hovering mid-air, before his brains kicks up the thought processes again.

"Oh, bollocks…"

His cheeks burn up, and he hides his face in his hands with a pitiful groan. Again, thanking the Gods for the Common Room to be empty. And it's just-he feels so stupid! Of course this is the answer to his jumbled questions. Of course it is this obvious. He can't even count it as a sudden realization, because he's known for weeks now, but chose to ignore it!

"I fancy Hermione…"

Feeling properly beaten, he starts wracking his brain, trying to find a solution for the imminent disaster that's about to happen (because, surely, Hermione can't feel-), when it hits him. The real realization.

She'd kissed him. On her own volition. And her look, her smile, when they sat by the lake…

"She knows…" he whispers, shocked, then grins. "She fancies me back!"

The instant turn his volatile mood takes is, for once, welcome. For once, Harry is actually looking forward to the next day.

For once, since the goblet spat his name on Halloween, he feels truly grateful for the way his luck works.

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the end.

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I haven't read it over, at least not the last part, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know! Thanks!

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